A beard?
by Delorita
Summary: SH09. Slash. This is my extended end of the movie.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: First of all, this is inspired by the "beard" discussion at Holmeaswatson09. Second, I've always wanted to write a "fix it" piece for the open end of the movie myself.

HwHwHwHwHw

"I have loaded the last of your boxes, Sir." The voice of the cabbie interrupts my musings about the complicated Moriarty case.

Watson turns his gaze towards me and I feel the incredible pang of loneliness creep up my spine. The pang which I had ignored for the last days. It hits with full force but I try to hide it. I take a great effort to look calmly back at him.

"Well." He says in a somewhat husky voice.

"Well." I answer lowly, looking awkward to the floor.

"Gladstone!" Miss Morstan's voice interrupts the tense moment.

"Stop him before he gets to the front door." Watson calls and doesn't look at me again. They are out of the room, chasing the dog - our dog-, within seconds.

"Case reopened." I say firmly, turning to Clarky and putting my hat on.

No one has to know in what state of misery I am about to fall.

The case might soothe my battered ego, distract me from the stupor, I know I am about to fall into, for a few days longer.

How can he leave me for a woman?

I shake my head. Silly question.

It is a normal thing to do for a man his age.

It would be a normal thing to do for a man my age as well. But since I am no normal man...

"Holmes?"

My heart gives a heavy thud at Watson's voice. He's standing there in the door frame, holding Gladstone in his arms, his gaze intense.

He is searching for words.

I wish he had not come back. It hurts me too much to look at him so I turn away.

I hear him come towards me, his steps hesitant.

"I want you to have him." Watson's voice sounds oddly strained.

I only move my head an inch to look at the dog.

He holds him out to me.

I do not move.

He wants to leave Gladstone in my care? What a noble gesture of him.

What about when I forget to feed him?

I am struggling with a lump in my throat.

Damn it, I am an adult, how can I get tearful when my best - and only - friend is leaving me?

"Holmes." He says again.

I shake my head, take Gladstone without looking at Watson and set the somewhat heavy animal on the floor. When I want to make sure that he wouldn't run again, I see that Watson had closed the door behind him when he came in already.

I slowly stand, heart racing in my throat.

It is now or never.

I will not see Watson again anyway since he decided to move out of my life.

He is still standing in the same place, close to me as always, not moving.

Then I let it happen.

I cut off my rational mind, which has always suppressed this reaction almost from the start of our friendship, and kiss him hard on the mouth, tongue flicking over his lips and tasting a bit of his moustache.

He staggers backwards, staring at me in astonishment.

I hold my breath.

Our gazes are locked.

I cannot say a word. I am shaking with anticipation and horror at what he might do or say.

His clear eyes seem to penetrate my very soul.

I do not bend my head. I want to get through this with my head held high. I am a sodomite, an invert - for him. Because I never felt the urge to kiss another man. It was always only ever him and I hate myself for that fact. I would have never come out, if he had stayed with me.  
But now I want him to know what I have felt for him all those years even though he might hate me from now on.

Then he moves.

He steps forward, grips my dressing gown and returns the kiss so feverishly and powerful, that I have to stop it and gasp for air.

I am holding his lapels just as fiercely.

"Why now?" He asks utterly confused.

"Because...because you are leaving me for good." I gasp.

"But I do not." He states and explains hastily. "I... I still want to... I need to work with you. I need the macabre, you were right." He pauses, then adds in a whisper, "I need you."

I pull his head toward me again and interrupt his explanation. I think my heart will burst with utter relief. I can feel his hunger for me as much as mine for him.

What an extraordinarily bad timing.

Mary's call from the staircase breaks us apart and we stagger both backwards a few steps.

"I will see you. I will manage a practice and our adventures. I always have." He looks radiant with joy and hope.

"I assume you have a plan?" My voice sounds not like my own at all. I search for my pipe in the pocket of my dressing gown, to keep my fingers occupied.

"Yes." He states just as Mary opens the door, smiling cheerfully. "John are you coming?"

He is still facing me and I see the wicked boyish grin beneath his moustache, when he mouths, yes, to me, his eyes gleaming with the double innuendo of the word 'coming'.

I can hardly suppress a childish giggle.

"All right, then." I shake his hand firmly, marvelling in the strength and warmth of it. Then I walk up to her, using my acting skills, kiss her hand and wish her a good day.

"I have a case to solve." I tip at my hat and disappear into my bedroom to change.

"I will look after Gladstone in a few days." My dear Watson shouts, then the door gets closed and I hear them go down the seventeen steps.

I start to hum lowly. What an interesting and promising turn of events.

- t b c (hopefully) -


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: The story is not written in Sir ACD's style since I am not THAT good with the english language, but I hope you like it anyway. Holmes' POV.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

I miss him.

The good mood from a few evenings before disappeared. I pull listlessly on the strings of my Stradivarius. There is no one I can play for, no one I can tease with the bow.

The room is way too silent, except Gladstone's soft snoring.

I have gone over the facts of the Moriarty case in my mind one pipe after another, have visited locations with Lestrade and Clarky. I came to the conclusion, that nothing could be done about the case at the very moment. And also that nothing was the same without my dear Watson by my side. I never thought about the fact that he would not be with me.

I always thought I would be completely capable to be on my own, until he left.

It is like my right hand did go amiss or part of my brain. He had caught up pretty quickly with his deduction skills. He knew a lot about my methods and talking the cases over with him made them clearer more often then not, even though he only asked the right questions at the right time.

He simply understood me. No one else does.

I also miss his comforting presence in the room, his scent, his uneven step, the scribbling of his pen.

I find myself crouching before our - my - dog, and not testing some elixir on him but scratching him lightly behind the ears as Watson used to do.

What if Watson is not coming back?

What if he likes to live with that woman?

What if...I get up and look for my syringe. I had not used it in a very long time. He always had an eye on me and often managed to distract me from my black moods. But right now I am about to fall into an even darker hole then ever before and I am not sure if I ever want to come out again.

Ah, there the object is, beneath the mattress. How appropriate. I smile cynically.

I roll up my sleeve.

Damn, John.

What have you done to me?

The needle is about to penetrate the skin of my arm, when I hear the front door open and the unmistakable step of my dear Watson assents the stair case, greeting Mrs. Hudson on the way kindly.

A gush of breath escapes me and I freeze.

The door flies open and there he is; tall, dashing and simply gorgeous. I press my eyes shut, thinking I am hallucinating already.

He slams the door of my room, locking it, striding towards me and rips the syringe out of my hand.

"No." He says and then kisses me fiercely.

After a split second of hesitation and surprise, I give as good as I get. I grab his lapels and pull him towards me. Our tongues tangle in a deep battle of power. He tastes like Darjeeling and his favourite cigar, not like that woman at all. My nostrils flair while taking in his scent as well. All male, sweaty and musky. He must have walked very fast.

His tongue in my mouth feels far better then I had imagined in my fantasies. His moustache tickles my upper lip. Our bodies melt together and I am hot and cold all at the same time. His hands grip my hair tightly and mine are already beneath his overcoat. My erection is growing and to my utter relief, so is his.

"God, Holmes." He gasps when he breaks the kiss, "I have missed you so terribly."

A sob escapes my throat uncontrollably and I attack him open mouthed, wrestle him onto the tiger rug. He tries to rip my clothes off as fast as I fumble with his.

"Missed you, missed you..." I murmur while licking his throat, my fingers trying to loosen his tie and collar. I grind into him totally unashamed, marvelling in the friction our still clothed bodies create. He trusts up at me eagerly. We just give up the struggle with the way too many layers of clothing and kiss like the world is about to fall apart.

I had not intended for it to be like this. But having my dear Watson under me, panting and writhing, his cock so hard against mine, his groans swallowed by me, his hand colliding with mine while I am getting bold enough to fondle his extremely heavy balls through his trousers, his hand doing the same to me, we just loose it completely.

We rub our bodies against each other frantically, desperately. He is pressing me down onto him with his delicate, strong fingers on my ass.

When we come, way too early like two adolescents, I bite his neck to suppress the animal like shout that threatens to escape me. He buries his nose and mouth into my hair to muffle his cry. The wet warmth that spreads between us is something so extraordinary special, it almost makes me sob uncharacteristically again.

After a few moments, our panting slowing down to a normal level of breathing eventually, I find the strength and courage to push myself up and look him straight in the eye.

"Watson, that was..."

"Perfect, Holmes." He interrupts me, and he actually smiles.

I bend down and kiss him leisurely for a while.

"You know, John," His first name comes easy over my tongue when I break the kiss again, which earns me another delightful smile, "I wanted to do that since a very long time..."

"Me too." He says in a really low voice. "Not brave enough..."  
"Me nether." I can not help myself and nibble the corners of his moustache.

He just keeps stroking my head. I am getting the feeling he must have a fetish with my messed up hair.

"Remember when I asked you if Irene needed a beard from you?" He looks curiously at me.

"I do." I answer absent minded, until it dawns on me what he means by that.

I sit up straight, straddling him, looking at him intently. His hands slide up and down my bare forearms.

"I did not know you were familiar whit the double meaning of that word." I say thoughtfully.

"But I am." He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips slowly and unexpectedly. I feel like I will melt completely onto him if he continues this. "People did start talking about us, you know."

I quirk and eyebrow at him. I had not noticed.

"Mrs. Hudson told me." He starts to unbutton my shirt.

"Oh." I mentally slap myself for not using my detection skills in that direction. I felt so secure with him as my best friend.

My slightly shaking hands finally manage to loosen his tie and collar and I toss the items of his flawless appearance carelessly aside.

He hisses when I start to lick his exposed skin.

"I...I thought..." His hands are in my hair again and I have a hard time to concentrate on what he is saying, my libido starting to overtake my brain. "Mary could be our beard." He slurs the words but I understand him just perfectly as I always do.

"Oh." I mutter again somewhat stupidly, licking his Adam apple.

"Oh God, Holmes, we need to talk about that properly." He moans but bucks up his hips into mine impatiently anyway.

"Yes. We will." I suck the skin of his neck dangerously sharp into my mouth. "After I am done with you."

++++++++ TBC ++++++++++


	3. Chapter 3

It is much darker when I become aware of my surroundings again. An odd sniffing sound is distracting me from the fact that I still lie on my Watson's firm body.

I hear and feel him chuckle lowly.

Something is licking my ear and it is not him.

I open my eyes and stare directly into Gladstone's round face.

Watson scratches our dog throughout and I almost get jealous.

I turn and sit up to face my...beloved.

His features are so open and soft, it warms my heart.

"We should have done this much earlier." He whispers, stroking my thigh. His voice sounds warm and comfortable.

"Indeed." Is the only thing I can say. Sadness starts to creep up into my awareness. "What now?" I suddenly need to get up. His strong presence makes me dizzy and I need to think. He gets up as well, disappearing into my bed room and I hear the water splashing into the bowl.

I check my pocket watch. 9 pm.

When Watson comes out of my bedroom stark naked, handing me a wet cloth, I cannot help but smile. It should have been like this for years. I clean myself up and put my trousers back on, then light my pipe thoughtfully as he searches for his clothing on the floor.

"I should go back." He murmurs. Then he looks at me with a hurt glance like a wounded animal and says lowly, "I do not want to."

He puts on all his wrinkled clothes and I watch him in fascination.

We just made love.

This can not be the end of it.

"You could stay." I just say and take the collar he was about to put on out of his fingers. I feel myself go all soft inside again, standing so close to him. I take his face into my hands, make him look at me. "Watson, I..."

"Do not say it." He interrupts me. "I know. Me too." We meet half way for a completely different kiss than before. Gentle caresses of our tongues and lips, our bodies in a tight embrace. It goes on for a long while, until a knock at the door startles us apart.

"Mr. Holmes, an urgent note for you." Mrs Hudson slips it beneath the door, as she always does when I am experimenting with my weapons.

I pick it up.

My heart sinks very low when I recognize the handwriting.

"What is it?" Watson asks, probably because of the fact that I must have turned pale.

"It is from your fiance ." I turn it round and round. "It is addressed to me."

He frowns and let himself fall into his favourite armchair. "What does she want?" He asks under his breath.

I open up the letter, my heart in my throat. If she accuses me of criminal doings...

The letter reads:

"_Mr. Holmes, my dear John._" I gasp and he is beside me instantly, looking over my shoulder, his arm securely around it.

"_It is very hard for me to write this letter. But I am not used to living with lies and I never want to, so I am writing this. As I stated already to you, Mr. Holmes, in the hospital, I know that you care for John as much as I do_." There is a wet spot on the page. Tears.

"_I know that he is with you at this very moment. He did not tell me, but I sense that he cannot live without you. He got more and more restless during the last days so I sent him off to visit you. Please take good care of him, Mr. Holmes. I love him very much_." Watson's grip around my shoulder hardens.

"_But, I think he loves you more_."

"Oh my god." Watson gasps beside me and I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable.

"_No, I will not report you to the police. He would not survive if you went to prison_." There was something scratched out on the page.

"_And so, I would like to ask you a favour. I would be very delighted if you could attend our wedding_." I frown and lean against him.

"_I am aware that rumours circulate about you two already since you have shared a flat for so long. I am willing to prevent them by marrying John. I am willing...to be your cover_." There were more tears spilled on the page mixed with ink and I tell myself, that I have to study this woman much more closely.

"_But I have one demand. You have to share him with me_." I sigh with utter relief. No police, no process, no proving that I have not slept with my best friend. I feel like dancing, actually. I think I can live with a tiny bit of jealousy compared to the other circumstances.

He takes the note from me and reads into my ear, "_John, I love you and I want you to be happy. You would have never told me all this, but I have eyes that can see very well and I have a large experience with people. You, my dear fianc , love Mr. Holmes more than a friend. You would die for him and that is true love. So please, take my offer and be my husband and ...his. Your sad, but still hopeful, Mary"_

I am speechless. Mary Morstan is a far more experienced woman then I gave her credit for. I swallow the lump in my throat, reading the whole note again.

"She has quiet a few detection skills of her own." I muse, trying to ignore the fact, that she, too, heard rumours about him and me.

Watson looks like he was struck by a lightening.

"She is..." He takes the letter from me, studying it.

"Right?" I enquire, letting my hands wander over his clothed back, desire overtaking my muddled senses yet again.

"Yes." He whispers, his hands slipping beneath my dressing gown.

"So you are an object to share?" I am suddenly in a funny mood. I feel him chuckle against my collar bone. "I suppose." He bites me and I groan. He makes me sit into the armchair, leaning over me, kissing my eyelids. I go all mushy inside. My dick gets interested already again when I feel Watson's hands slide down my bare sides. It looks like we have several years to catch up with.

"You know," A thought occurs to me, "I would die for you too." I just have to say it.

"No dying." He says shortly and then opens up my belt again and my cock twitches expectantly. He looks up at me, licking his lips. "We need to write to her."

I nod, and gasp, "Later." When he takes the tip of my aroused cock into his mouth.

F I N


End file.
